


Pure Portrait

by SableGear0



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SableGear0/pseuds/SableGear0
Summary: In addition to his position as a trusted confidant to the Pale King, Lurien the Watcher is also a skilled painter. During a privileged portrait sitting, Lurien becomes enamoured of his most recent subject, sparking a conflict in the Watcher's heart. Does his devotion to his craft, or to this new someone, outweigh his loyalty to his king?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lurien paints a portrait of the Pure Vessel. Nothing could be simpler, right?

“Ahh...” I couldn’t help but sigh. It was so wonderful to have a subject who would sit still. Even if it was an eerie, deathly kind of still. They were so obliging.

            “You really have such a striking profile. What a noble bearing,” I leaned around my canvas to glance at my subject – still exactly where I had left them – I felt a bit uncertain asking, “I don’t suppose... anyone’s ever told you that, have they?”

            Nothing. Not even a visible blink. No shake of the head. They sat perfectly still, although I knew they had heard my words. However His Majesty had groomed his knight, he had instilled what seemed to be a kind of willful ignorance in them. The ability to remain still and unresponsive even when paying keen attention. What a strange, beautiful subject I was rendering onto my canvas. The Pure Vessel. The Hollow Knight.

            I settled back onto my stool, supposing I could not be disappointed they had not answered me. They were, after all, so very obliging otherwise. Many subjects I had painted fidgeted or got distracted conversing with me. Even those who did a good job of sitting still often let their heads droop or their arms rest different from the way I had posed them. But the Pure Vessel was statuesque both in look and manner, not showing so much as a twitch as the time passed. Even I was getting restless by this point. Thank goodness I was nearly done.

            I sat back from the canvas to review my work. The Pure Vessel, rendered in exquisite detail, if I could say so of myself. The polished pauldrons of their armour gleamed overtop of their silvery white cape, the subtle shimmer of which I had managed to capture with creative use of a bit of extra colour. The Hallownest seal on their breast glinting proudly. Their impressive horns and impassive face in three-quarter profile. One hand resting atop the pommel of their longnail, the other on the crosshilt; a suggestion of martial readiness in the otherwise relaxed pose. The whole waist-up portrait lit with a novel warmth.

            I had a particular technique for lighting my portraits. Rather than the cold glow of lumafly lamps, I much preferred genuine firelight. It lent a life and a character that other lighting simply could not. Even if it was a bit of an inconvenience in the City of Tears. Wood was used for construction, most bugs thought it a waste to simply burn it. Candles and the like were more common; rendered from poggy tallow or, on the rare occasion they became available, molded from hive wax. Hiveling candles were my favourite, they burned with such a clean, cheery light and produced so little smoke. And the smell they gave off was pleasant, almost buttery. Even if they were a dear expense compared to the periodic pinch of sugar it took to keep a lumafly glowing. There was nothing quite like them.

            And so I had graced my honored guest’s countenance with both the robust light of a full hearth and counter-lighting from a candelabra of hiveling candles. The warmth highlighted the faintest opalescence in their mask, which I admit I was not quite able to replicate, but I wasn’t disappointed. The detail felt instead like a secret I would share with my subject. Something one had to have been there to see in full. Yes – I signed the very bottom corner by etching the still-moist paint with the end of my brush: _L_. – this piece was finished.

            “There we are. I do believe we are done.” I stood up and stretched, taking up a rag to wipe the paint from my hands, “Would you like to see?”

            In lieu of an answer, the Pure Vessel looked to me and shifted on their seat, rested their nail across their lap. His Majesty had rather cryptically requested I not engage to personally with them. My initial assumption had been that it was the Knight’s preference to maintain some distance, then I had remembered their nature. They were stoic – empty – by design, not temperament.

            Still, would it do any harm to share their own portrait? I turned the easel around carefully, “Here, take a look. I think I captured you quite well. As I said, you have quite a striking profile, Pure Vessel... Pure...” I said with a hint of a question. Could I do that? Could I shorten it like that?

            It took effort to suppress my habit of asking ‘What do you think?’ I knew it was not the Pure Vessel’s place to think. Nor to opine about art. However, I could tell that under that expressionless mask, my piece had their attention. They were examining it, examining themself.

            “I would so love to do another, if we had the time,” I sighed, tossing my rag aside. “Perhaps His Majesty would allow us another sitting? I should ask when he returns,” I turned inward for a moment, muttering aloud to myself, “He has been so fickle lately...”

            I took a deep breath and massaged the soft spot around my eye just under my mask to relax. Then I approached the Pure Vessel. Even seated I felt as if they dwarfed me, though I knew it was mostly the height of their horns that made up the difference. I extended a hand to them; this seemed to be a custom they were allowed, as they extended a hand in kind, and I clasped it firmly in both of mine. They were cold to the touch.

            “Thank-you... Pure... It was an honour to sit with you today and capture your likeness.” I let go of their hand, allowing myself a chuckle, “I can say with confidence you are certainly among my favourite subjects. A most agreeable model.”

            They nodded. I had to restrain a squeak of joy that I had gotten a response, even though I knew their understanding of my compliment was not what I had meant. The Pure Vessel knew they were agreeable, they always did as they were told. I hadn’t been praising their inbuilt obedience, but the brief connection still cheered me.

            There was no knock, but there was always a kind of breath or hush that preceded the Pale King’s voice such that one knew he was present even if he could not be seen.

            “Lurien, my Watcher, may I enter?”

            So kind of him to ask, a courtesy he afforded me as one of his trusted few. I opened the door and bowed to my king, gesturing him in with a sweep of one arm. “Of course, Your Majesty. We have just finished.”

            “No need for that,” he quipped as he swept past me into the room, allowing me to straighten up. The Pure Vessel was on their feet as well. “I trust my knight was well behaved?”

            “Of course, Your Majesty. A truly perfect model.”

            “And a truly perfect likeness,” the Pale King was examining the canvas, one robed hand under his chin. “Absolutely stunning. You’ve outdone yourself, Lurien,” he folded his hands in his sleeves, turning to me, “I’m genuinely amazed.”

            “Well, outdone myself for now, Your Majesty. If I may, I have another request. With your permission, and that of Her Highness, I would very much like to have a sitting with the three of you together. Yourself, Her Highness the White Lady, and Pure.”

            “What.” Somehow it was a statement, not a question.

            I tried to clarify, “If I could paint the three of you toget–”

            “Step outside.”

            I jumped, “Your Majesty?”

            “Step outside, Watcher.” Each slow, deliberate word felt like a blow to my very body.

            I did as bidden, too afraid to question further or disobey. The Pale King followed me into the hallway, closing the door behind us. Although I was usually certain I was taller than His Majesty, there were times I felt I was looking _up_ at the Pale King – as if his size was mutable, or merely a perception that he could change at will. I felt so now, looking up at his featureless black eyes, his crown of horns, his whole gleaming self making me feel so tiny by comparison.

            The Pale King’s baleful, even tone had all the force of a shout, “Do not speak about them that way. Do not abbreviate their title. Do not seek to name them. They are my Pure Vessel, and I will not have my careful work _contaminated_ by your sentimentality. Understood?”

            “Y-yes, Your Majesty...” When I came back to myself I realized I could feel the cold of the stone floor beneath my knees. Had I been kneeling this whole time? The weight of the Pale King’s presence had pushed me down onto the floor before him.

            “Now,” His Majesty seemed to have returned to his normal size, “Make your request again, Watcher.”

            I cleared my throat and straightened my robe, bowing my head rather than daring to stand, “With your permission, and that of Her Highness, I would like to have a portrait sitting with yourself, Her Highness the White Lady, and the Pure Vessel. It would be an honour to paint my Pale Monarchs alongside their Hollow Knight.”

            He made me wait. The pause dragging on far too long, tempting me to look up, to ask again. But I knew His Majesty’s wiles. I could be as patient as he wanted me to be. I was not among his trusted circle for nothing.

            There was that breath again, that uncanny hush just before the sound of his voice.

            “Very well. I will entreat my Lady’s favour and send for you when she has reached a decision.” I felt a hand on my shoulder, welcoming me to look up, to stand again. My eye met the Pale King’s gaze, finding a suggestion of a smile there. “I will arrange your transport to the White Palace should she accept.”

            He turned and opened the door to my studio. At his nod, the Pure Vessel snapped to attention. The Pale King spoke to me without looking my way, “In the mean time, take your ease. You have crafted something wonderful and deserve a rest. I am grateful for your efforts, Lurien, my faithful Watcher. I always am. Come.”

            At his command, the Pure Vessel strode forth after the King, both passing me where I stood in the hall. I watched them go, my thoughts equal parts awe, uncertainty, love, and – just for an instant, the Pure Vessel turned their head to glance back at me –

            regret.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lurien visits the White Palace to capture the Royals on canvas. Inspiration leads to troubling insight.

The first thing that struck me about the White Palace was the light. An incredible platonic paleness filled the space, the indoor sky of its lush walled gardens. At once harsh and gentle, bleaching and vibrant. A stark contrast to the cloying darkness of the Ancient Basin outside. No flame or lumafly could produce such a light. This was the aura of the Pale King and his White Lady, unrestrained, suffusing their royal home.

            It was to my mixed fortune that the White Lady did indeed agree to sit for a portrait. It struck me as strange. The Pale Monarchs had never allowed or commissioned me to paint them, they seemed to prefer a kind of anonymity. I did not understand why they had agreed now. But I had packed up my things all the same. On seeing the size of the carriage sent for me, I felt less guilty about bringing such a large canvas and my full collection of pigments.

            I had never before set foot inside the royal palace. Nor had I ever laid eyes upon Her Highness before now. The White Lady – even without knowing her title, to look upon her was to behold a being every inch the Queen of Hallownest. A spreading, unbound being of luminous roots, bedecked with robes of lavender silk, her branches hung with strands of jewels, her deep and knowing eyes like flawless sapphires. Her presence radiated a sense of abundance, of patience, a powerful motherly air. A perfect match for her Pale King.

            The Monarchs sat for me before a clear opening in one of the palace’s many gardens. While I had been enchanted with the graceful architecture around me, I felt trying to incorporate the framing of an arch or trellis would merely detract from my subjects. I wanted no distractions or curiosities in the image, only their collective regal presence.

            Her Highness sat demure upon a stone bench, His Majesty standing at her side. He stood upon the bench, to narrow the gap in height between them. Even though he did employ whatever enchantment it was that skewed one’s perception of him, appearing larger than usual, his Lady still overtopped him. However, the trailing length of his robe reached and pooled on the ground below him, lessening the impression of difference. Behind and somewhat between them stood the Pure Vessel. No weapon in evidence, merely a serene pillar topped with shining armour, a glittering cape, and those inspiring opalescent horns.

            I allowed my subjects a few moments to settle into their general composition, hoping to foster a bit of banter while I set up. I would refine their pose once I was ready to begin.

            “I cannot overstate how great an honour it is to undertake this. I thank you with the whole of my heart, Your Highness.”

            The White Lady hummed and smiled, her eyes pressing shut, “And we thank you, dear Watcher. When my husband brought up the idea I simply couldn’t refuse, knowing it would be your work. I must admit I became rather enamoured of the idea of having a portrait of the three of us together. It might be nice.”

            A less perceptive bug may have assumed she meant to conclude her statement there, but I detected a hint of hesitation. She cut herself short. ‘It might be nice’ to what? I didn’t look over from tightening the nuts on my easel. When I moved to check the angle of it, I saw the Pale King’s attention flick back to me from the White Lady.

            “There we are,” I set my canvas in place, the massive thing blocking my view of the royals. “I’ll just need a moment to pick my pigments and we should be ready to begin. I must say, the lighting here is truly spectacular. So perfectly white. I usually paint by firelight for the warmer hues, but everything feels as if it shows in its truest colour here.” I bowed to the Pale Monarchs before taking my seat, “Your collective brilliance is truly a treasure.”

            From behind the canvas I heard the White Lady chuckle, and perhaps the Pale King sigh.

            “Now then,” I leaned around to take a better look at my subjects, “Let me see... My Lady, my King – may I call you so for the sake of convenience this day?” They both nodded an affirmative, I nodded back. “Very good. Now, my Lady; could you turn the tiniest bit to your left? Keep your head forward. And tilt your chin up just a bit? There we are. My King, if you could take just a half-step forward, and straighten out your–” I made a plucking motion, trying to indicate a spot where the Pale King’s robe was bunching on the edge of the bench. He saw it right away and gave it a tug to let it hang loose. “Perfect.”

            “Pure Vessel...” I tapped the chin of my mask. How to pose them? The way they stood now was passable, with their arms and hands hidden beneath the drape of their cape, but it felt lacking. “Clasp your hands in front of yourself, please?”

            They did as bidden. How did that look? No, too juvenile, this was not a child’s portrait.

            “Behind your back, perhaps.”

            Silent compliance. This looked too much like before, except now their elbows stuck out from inside their cape. No, no, no. There had to be something better. I missed using their longnail as a prop; they had such a powerful physique and expressive hands, it seemed a shame to hide them.

            “Could you... Place your right hand over your thorax, like so? Try to keep your shoulder down but your elbow up.” I mimed the gesture myself, one hand over my heart, shoulder level as if relaxed, elbow up so my forearm was close to parallel with the ground.

            The Pure Vessel imitated the pose near to perfection. I hopped off my stool to adjust them with a hushed “If I may?” as I passed behind the White Lady. I lowered their elbow just a bit and arranged their cape so it hung back behind their raised arm. There, precisely the effect I had wanted. A subtle reveal of that dark, defined figure beneath the white fabric, achieved with a noble and pious gesture of fealty to their Monarchs.

            “Perfect.” I sat once again, taking up my brush, “Now then, we may talk while I work but I ask that you try to keep still otherwise. So please get any last-minute adjustments out of the way now.”

            While it was genuinely for the benefit of my subjects, this was also a little trick I liked to use to sneak a little insight into their character. Even if it did not show through in the final painting, I felt as if seeing my subjects’ quirks helped me capture them more accurately. The White Lady took the moment to scratch her face with the hem of one sleeve. The Pale King shifted his weight and twisted; I heard the muffled crack of what may have been him adjusting his dorsal shell. The Pure Vessel simply stood in place.

            With the royals and their knight adjusted, I began to paint.

            The most challenging thing about the piece, I soon found, was the lighting. There were no deep dramatic shadows to play with here. Everything in the White Palace was suffused with the supernatural brightness emitted by the Pale Monarchs, it made defining their shapes from the glow of their background difficult. Inwardly I thanked myself for the way I had incorporated the Pure Vessel into the image. That slash of dark between the White Lady and Pale King was a compositional blessing.

            “So, tell me, Lurien, how did you find yourself in my husband’s employ? I have met so few of his associates outside the retainers that live in the palace. How did you come to us?”

            I blushed under my mask. The White Lady’s words bore a genuine interest, “Well, my Lady, for my part it was rather by accident. As the younger son of a noble I was allowed more trivial pursuits such as studying art and history, while my elder brother studied law. However, I found my studies made me uncommonly perceptive. Rather a concern for my family who worried I might supplant my brother if I chose to take up law. I had no interest in such things, but a bit of a reputation began to surround me, and I suspect it was this that drew his Majesty to me. I may have only one eye, but it sees more than the many sets of some other bugs I have met.”

            It saw their reactions now as I glanced around the canvas at them. The White Lady’s head was tilting slowly to one side as she listened. The Pale King would have been nodding in affirmation if I had not asked him to sit still. The Pure Vessel had their keen, absent attention on me.

            It was the While Lady who spoke the most to me while I worked. She asked if I knew any others in the King’s inner circle. I did indeed, I had studied briefly under Monomon the Teacher and kept in contact with her after my time at the Archives. She asked what life was like in the City of Tears, my function there, whether I had considered moving to the White Palace, if her husband would allow it. I answered her questions truthfully, having to pause between them to remind her of her pose.

            “My dear, if anyone of us could keep still, one would think it should be you,” the Pale King chided.

            “My apologies. May we take a break, Lurien? I feel myself beginning to stiffen.”

            “Of course, my Lady.”

            We collectively moved to stretch. The Pure Vessel remained standing but turned their attention instead to the luminous flora of the garden. I too took in the sights to rest my eye and ponder the White Lady’s questions.

            There was an ulterior motive to them. Nothing to do with me, but I could sense another intent behind them, as if she were trying to distract herself. But from what? ‘It might be nice.’ Nice to what? I filled in the blank with what I knew. It might be nice to have a portrait of the three of them together. But why did that trouble her? A portrait with her regal husband and their chosen knight?

            Chosen.

            To battle the Infection.

            The White Lady turned her back to me to stand next to the Pure Vessel, taking in the view. The Pale King sat on the bench, casting a glance their way.

            She did not expect them to return.

            I looked to my canvas, at its back side resting on my easel. His Majesty had confided something similar in me, asking if there was a task that I could undertake to save Hallownest, even if it cost my life or my freedom, would I do it? I had of course answered that I would. I was no great leader or warrior, merely an artist, but I would. I would for him. It occurred to me now that we were both part of his grand plan, and the knowledge of it must have pained his queen. ‘It might be nice’ to have a portrait of the three of them together, to have it done by me. To have a memory of this tenuous peace. Of this ideal...

            The three of them turned together, naturally gathering at the bench again, assembling and making ready to pose for me once more. Why hadn’t I seen it before? A fresh eye made all the difference, for certain. That stoic bearing, that subtle opalescence, those deep black eyes. They had their mother’s grace, their father’s features.

            This ideal family.

            I took my seat with a deep breath, staring down at the smears on my palette to collect my thoughts. It was coming together now, like colours blending to a match. It all felt so final. I wished I hadn’t made the conclusion I did. Damn my keen perception. Both too soon and too late.

            Another breath. I took up my brush and looked up at my subjects to adjust their poses before continuing. Something wasn’t right. The shapes I had blocked out were wrong somehow.

            “My Lady, pardon my candor but have you... grown?”

            The White Lady blinked and glanced up at her branches, “Oh dear, it seems I have. My apologies, Lurien, this tends to happen when I sit still for a time. I had forgotten. Shall I call an attendant to...?”

            “Oh, no need, my Lady,” how my poor heart needed the moment of levity, “In fact, you’re framing the scene quite nicely. If it’s no inconvenience to you, may I continue?”

            “Certainly, dear Watcher.”

            “Thank-you, my Lady. And could you lift your head just a bit?”

            “Oh,” she chuckled; a soothing, matronly sound, “Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lurien idles in the White Palace before returning to the City of Tears. No good deed goes unpunished.

“Dear Watcher, this...” the White Lady was at a loss for words, “This is wonderful. Such astounding work. It is beautiful, truly beautiful.”

            “ _You_ are beautiful, Your Highness,” I bowed to the White Lady, to the Pale King, “Your Majesty...” I hesitated, then bowed also to the Pure Vessel, though not so deeply. More of a firm nod. “Pure Vessel. I merely did my best to replicate that beauty. Thank-you all for your patience.”

            “A paltry price for such a wonderful end,” cooed the White Lady.

            “Indeed. You were correct, Lurien,” the Pale King nodded to me, “This does outdo your previous piece.”

            “My most humble thanks, Your Majesty... I almost wish I could keep it for my private collection.”

            “Why not make a copy?”

            I blinked. The king’s suggestion was uncharacteristically candid. I looked to the finished canvas. “I... suppose. It would be difficult, I doubt I could truly do the original justice but...” I looked back to His Majesty, “Would you allow me?”

            “Certainly.”

            In place of a gushing thank-you I bowed again, eye shut tight. There was the barest hint of a laugh in the Pale King’s voice, “There’s no need for that,” he touched my shoulder, prompting me to rise, “I encourage you to take pride in your work. It is the least I can do as a reward.”

            I leaned in, intending to speak, to bow and thank him again, but he held up a hand to forestall me.

            “No need for that. Shall I have you transported back to your spire in the City of Tears?”

            “Oh! I-in a few hours, I’m afraid, Your Majesty. The painting will need time to dry and cure before it can be safely moved.”

            “I see. I regret to say I will not be a very good host then. If there is time before we depart, then I have some preparations of my own to make. My Lady, would you be so kind as to accommodate our guest for the time being.”

            The White Lady nodded, the ornaments in her branches swaying, “Of course, my dear,” she looked to me, “Though I too may need to leave you in the care of a retainer after a time. My apologies.”

            I fidgeted under the drape of my robe. There was no need for her to apologize to _me_. “That is quite alright, Your Highness. If you have more urgent matters to attend, I’m sure I can find ways to occupy myself. I would be quite content to simply take in the sights, if I may roam a bit?”

            “You certainly may. For now, will you join me on a walk?”

            I glanced to where the Pale King had stood before, only to find him gone. He’d said ‘before _we_ depart.’ Was he planning to come with me to the city? I set the thought aside and nodded to the White Lady, “Please lead on, Your Highness.”

            She glided off across the lawn, the long train of her wrap hiding whatever sort of appendages she used for locomotion. She spoke to the Pure Vessel as she passed them, without glancing aside, “Walk with us.” Part suggestion, part command. The Pure Vessel obeyed.

            The White Lady led me through the garden at a leisurely pace, allowing me time to take in the flora. So many of the plants were deep, impossibly rich greens, so dark they were nearly black, and speckled with pale, silvery flowers. A favourite of hers, it seemed.

            The Pure Vessel followed in silence, even the faint sound of their footfalls was muffled in the stillness. I cast a glance in their direction as we walked. Still silent and noble. Their attention was on the White Lady, not even seeming to acknowledge me. I tried my best not to be hurt; they couldn’t help it, I knew. The White Lady was the one who had commanded them, so they would be focussed on her until someone else directed them.

            It was a calming, pensive walk. Her Highness didn’t speak much. She demonstrated the odd rare plant to me or asked the occasional question about my art or my process. At length she excused herself and departed down a side path. Her branches tugged those of the other trees in the garden and scraped against the walls as she passed; she had indeed been growing as the time passed, and I assumed she was heading away to mitigate that somehow. Did Her Highness need to be pruned regularly? It felt a bit inappropriate to consider.

            Before she left, she issued a command to the Pure Vessel; “Guide our guest back whence we came.” There was a note of sorrow to her voice.

            My guide gestured back along the path and waited for me to set the pace. They walked alongside me as I headed back towards where I had been working. Damn my keen perception. I couldn’t help but see it now when I looked at them, how much they resembled their parents, their father especially. What was his plan, really? If he was willing to risk his own offspring in the endeavour to contain the Infection, what would become of me, a mere associate?

            We reached the bench where my canvas was still set up and I checked the state of the painting. There was still at least an hour before it would be fully dry. I would need to spend that time somehow.

            I looked back at the Pure Vessel. They seemed focussed on the portrait. Something twisted in me. I knew it was treasonous, sacrilegious even, but I wanted to see them react. Something, anything. Any sound or word, any expression – I was desperate to see my art stir them, even if it meant ruining His Majesty’s hard work and careful grooming of his Hollow Knight. How could a thing so beautiful be hollow?

            I had to risk it. I looked the Pure Vessel in the eye and asked them that simple, forbidden question I asked of all my painted subjects.

            “What do you think?”

            The Pure Vessel looked to me, then to the portrait for a moment, then back to me, where their attention stayed. Nothing. I sighed.

            “Pure...” it took effort to say, but I had made up my mind. I was going to use this little nickname any time we were alone. Hollowness be damned. “Thank-you again. Thank-you so much for letting me paint you alongside the Monarchs. You’ve been such a wonderful model. You’re... You’re lovely, Pure. You really are.”

 

= = =

 

            The ride back to the City of Tears had been tense for me. Alone in my carriage with only my painting, wrapped in raw canvas to protect it, my mind raced. What was the Pale King’s plan? What was the Pure Vessel’s part in it? My part? Why was it so crucial that they remained empty, devoid of thought and emotion? I had no answers for myself and could only bury my musings when we arrived at my spire again.

            The two coachbugs from my carriage toted the painting and my supplies up the many levels of the spire back to my studio, following myself and the Pale King. At my instruction they set down my supplies and placed the painting on an easel, then bowed out of the room.

            I took a few minutes to kindle my fireplace to a healthy glow and light a handful of candles before unwrapping the painting. In the warm orange light, the subtleties of my colour choices were less apparent, but I knew they were there. Each individual was rendered in slightly different shades; the White Lady in faint suggestions of purple, the Pale King in subtle blues, and the Pure Vessel in warm but monotone greys. I would have to employ some different lighting, perhaps a mix of lumafly lanterns and candlelight, to attempt to replicate the pure white light of the palace when I painted my copy.

            Next to the solo portrait of the Pure Vessel, the group portrait was a perfect complement. The warm hues of the Pure Vessel’s first rendering were carried over in the muted palette of the second piece. A sly self-reference.

            The Pale King nodded approvingly in my peripheral. He stepped out of sight, just behind me, and I heard the hush of his inhale close behind my head. The murmur of his voice in my ear. Deep and smooth as an underground river.

            “Do you love me, Lurien?”

            “Of course, Your Majesty,” I answered automatically, despite my shock.

            “Is there anything you would not do for me, even at the cost of your life, or your freedom?”

            “Nothing, Your Majesty.”

            I felt his hand on my shoulder. A lethal weight.

            “I want you to destroy them.”

            “Y... Your Majesty...?” I struggled to find my voice.

            Both hands squeezed my shoulders. I could feel the side of his head pressed to mine, holding my gaze on the portraits before us.

            “Burn them, Lurien.”

            I felt my heart seize, then sink. No. He could not mean that. He knew how dear my work was to me, how great an honour it had been to work with the Pure Vessel, with himself and his White Lady. He couldn’t...

            But his voice rang low in my ear. Calm, logical, coaxing, “I cannot allow them to exist. I will not have any links between myself, my Lady, and the Hollow Knight. Nothing beyond the knowledge of their duty. No one must see these.” His hands slid from my shoulders down to my sides, then his arms wrapped around me, holding me firm against himself, pinning my own arms against my sides. “I want you to burn them. Will you do this for me?”

            “I-I...”

            I felt his grip around me tighten. Somewhere in the back of my whirring mind a rumour surfaced. The Pale King had once been a wyrm; a titanic legless creature of immense strength and mystic power. Trapped now in his grasp my thoughts were dominated by the image of the wyrm coiled around me, crushing my frail shell, smothering my will to resist him. The Pale-Wyrm-King’s mandibles grazed my mask, his voice rumbling through my whole being.

            “Do you not love me, Lurien?”

            “I... _do_ , Your Majesty...” my words came out hoarse.

            “And is there nothing you would not do for me? For love of your King?”

            “N... No... Your Majesty...” my single eye welled with tears.

            “Burn them, Lurien.” The Pale King released me. I dropped to the floor in a trembling heap. I felt more than heard His Majesty leave, his voice trailing out my door, “I will send for you anon. Prepare yourself for the sealing ritual. My Knight and I will have need of you.”

            Silence. A dreadful, aching silence that stretched on I know not how long. Tears ran down my mask, dripped onto my lap and blurred my vision. I sat and wept until my tears dried in the heat from the fire. I blinked my dry, tired eye clear of its film of grief and looked up at the portraits.

            The Pure Vessel. Beautiful, noble, gleaming in the firelight. Poised with their engraved longnail in hand, point-down with their hands upon the hilt. The elegant curves of their armour, the folds of their cape, the Hallownest emblem upon their breast, catching highlights from my hearth. The Pale Monarchs and their knight, shining brighter than the white aura all around them, divided by the dark slash of the Pure Vessel’s unveiled form. Regal. Perfect.

            No. I pushed myself to my feet. Forced deep breaths to quell my trembling.

            ‘My Knight and I will have need of you.’ A ritual. A sacrifice. That was the fate of the Hollow Knight, the Pure Vessel... Pure. My beautiful Pure.

            No. I loved His Majesty but there was one thing I would not do. Not even for love of him.

            I could not bear to destroy such a beautiful thing twice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dreamers seal the Infection, and Lurien takes time to reflect.

“Everything is in order, Master Lurien. Your chamber has been prepared as you instructed. And you’re... sure about those paintings?”

            I sighed and nodded, “Yes. Please stow them away with me. Just keep them covered and store them in my chamber.”

            “All of them?”

            I looked down at my aide. He fidgeted with the hems of his sleeves, waiting for my reply. I nodded again, “All those I have specified. The paintings of the spire and the waterways, the flower studies, and the two unfinished pieces I have covered. Please store them with me when I return.”

            We stepped into a lift and my aide pulled the lever to descend. I touched his shoulder to get his attention, trying my best to keep my voice light, “I will be very deep in sleep when I return. I would still like to be surrounded by things of beauty, even if I cannot see them. There is no need to display any of them, however. Just... knowing they will be there with me upon my return is enough.”

            “As you wish, Master Lurien.”

            A carriage was waiting for me at the entrance to my spire, at street level in the City of Tears. Pale grey and beautifully carved. The same carriage that had borne me to the White Palace would now bear me as far in the opposite direction as one could travel by land. My aide tugged my robe as I made to board.

            “Master...” He stepped back, and I saw my other assistants had gathered in the door of the spire. They each placed a hand over their hearts. “It has been a pleasure working with you, Master Lurien,” he said. “We will await your return.”

            I blinked back the sting of tears and bent to shake his hand, “It has been a pleasure having you at my side. And please... do not call me ‘master’ any longer. Farewell, my friends.”

 

= = =

 

            Up. Our path wound and twisted up, towards the earth’s surface. Just below ground His Majesty had ordered the construction of a temple or sorts. A horned dome of jet black stone. The place he intended to seal the Infection.

            I arrived last, it seemed. His Majesty, his five great Knights, and the Hollow Knight were already present. Two other bugs were also in the king’s retinue. Others like me.

            I nodded and made a rippling gesture to one, greeting her in her own custom. Monomon the Teacher, master of the Archives. A lady of science, an enlightened mind from an unusual species. I had studied with her in my youth, before my focus turned more towards the City of Tears. I knew Monomon had worked closely with His Majesty to some end... I understood more clearly now she must have had some hand in training the Hollow Knight.

            The other did not approach us, but stood apart with her own small retinue of weavers. I knew her by rumours and by her title. Herrah the Beast. A very large and very well respected weaver. I wondered how exactly His Majesty had enlisted her help. The weavers were not friendly towards the bugs of Hallownest, but their leader Herrah was here to assist us. Perhaps they too saw the threat of the Infection and had agreed to cooperate.

            “ _Uu hah nuu’lu-ah,_ Lurien. You are late,” Monomon burbled to me.

            I bowed to her, “My apologies, Teacher. The transport was not by my arrangement.” When I straightened up, the angle of her head suggested a smile. I smiled back and nodded, “It is good to see you again.”

            “ _Cuur-u_. Would that the circumstances were less dire.”

            “Indeed.”

            I looked to the assembled Knights. The king’s most loyal five stood in conference with their monarch. I could see him gesturing to the area around the temple. They were meant to secure a perimeter. The Hollow Knight – the Pure Vessel – stood close at the king’s hand. Armed, armoured and battle-ready. Awe-inspiring. What did they expect to face here?

            Myriad deceptively light footsteps betrayed Herrah’s approach. Unusual for a weaver, she had an impressive set of horns covered by a long grey cowl. A raspy hum issued from the weaver as she eyed the assembly.

            Monomon looked to her but said nothing. I offered a polite nod, “Greetings. You must be Herrah the Beast.”

            “I am,” she growled at my statement of the obvious.

            “May I ask why you came to His Majesty’s aid?” I tried not to be daunted by her brusque manner, but I felt very small standing next to her.

            “That’s no business of yours, Watcher,” she snarled, then lightened somewhat, “But if you must know, I am here for the sake of my tribe... My family.”

            Her attention drifted back to the knights, to the Hollow Knight in particular.

            “Magnificent, aren’t they?” I asked her in a hushed voice.

            Monomon nodded approvingly. After a beat of silence, Herrah murmured to herself. “I wonder if my girl will ever be that tall...”

            The Pale King and his Hollow Knight approached us. We three bowed in unison; I most deeply, Monomon gracefully, Herrah scarcely bending her head.

            “I thank you all for your part in this. Your noble sacrifice will be honoured for ages to come.” The Pale King’s voice had a powerful, stirring resonance. “I know this kind of magic is strange to you, but it is the key to sealing away this wretched Infection. You have all shown mastery of it. Now is the time.”

            We all straightened, but none of us could bring ourselves to speak. The King gave a single, firm nod. “My loyal Dreamers. I will lead the Hollow Knight within the temple. When I exit, you will seal the entrance on my signal.”

            There was no confirmation, no questions. The Pale King and his Hollow Knight – his Pure Vessel... Pure, beautiful Pure – strode into he temple. The King simply as he was, the Hollow Knight with their nail in hand. And just for an instant, the Pure Vessel turned their head to glance back at me.

            The wait could have been minutes, or an eternity. Their gleaming figures disappeared into the absolute darkness of the temple, and we were left to wait. Then there was a light. A sickening yellow-orange light that filtered in first like a mist from outside the temple to within, then a poisonous glow from within leaking out.

            Then there was a scream.

            A terrible, wrenching, echoing scream. Pure’s scream. It had to be. A howl of pain and terror that pushed us all a step back.

            A gleam of white cut the darkness; the Pale King rushing out of the shadows on luminous wings, passing us in a gust of silvery scales. The shrieking in the blackness reached an agonizing pitch.

            “Seal it! Now!”

            We Dreamers each raised a hand. Magic is woven by intent. Any bug with a strong enough will can harness it provided they have purpose, but training, intense focus, or devoted passion are needed to truly command it. We each had a purpose, spoken into the incantation that shaped our magics:

            “ _To protect the Vessel, we Dreamers shall sleep. Through our devotion, Hallownest shall last eternal,_ ” we intoned together.

            “For diversity, a seal. For a world unchanging,” chanted Monomon.

            “For my brood, for my clan, for my child,” hissed Herrah.

            I felt tears come to my eye. The words fought me, as if I had to force them into shape to make them bear the weight of the spell. “For King beloved. For love of my home.”

            “ _The Seals are made. Our bonds will remain. Forever._ ”

            I remember a door. I remember the light of our seals coalescing into the images of our masks. I remember my strength leaving me all at once, replaced with exhaustion. I remember beginning to collapse, but I do not remember hitting the ground.

 

= = =

 

            The vista was endless. Clouds, wisps of fog, strange runes or wheels that flickered at the edge of one’s vision. And rays of light. Her light. Sunlight. It ebbed and surged with Her moods, with Her caged fury from somewhere deep within the Pure Vessel. This was my reality now. My shared Dream.

            The others were here in the Dream as well. At first we did not reach out to one another. But time, such as it was, began to weigh on us and we each began to feel the ache of solitude. Monomon would visit us at first, but eventually we became able to reach out to one another and gather on the strange vistas of the Dream.

            “Lurien, _auo uu mu’lo_? Why do you weep?”

            I blinked away my tears as best I could. Caught in the almost-breeze surrounding us, they blew away like glittering sand. “I wonder... Did we do the right thing, Monomon? That poor Vessel...”

            “They did what they were made to do,” she replied simply.

            “Made?” Herrah’s harsh voice was a welcome change from the soft subconscious ambience.

            “They were made. I oversaw the creation of their kind. His Majesty wanted a perfect vessel, something with _vuollo_ , endless capacity, to contain the source of the Infection.”

            I couldn’t contain my outburst, “They were a living creature, Monomon!”

            “No, they were not,” she replied simply, “They were crafted of things very much _illu_ , not-alive.”

            “But – They thought!” I held up my hands to her as if pleading, “They _felt_!”

            “No, they did not,” Monomon raised a tentacle to stroke her chin, “Or, they should not have.”

            Even here I felt a quivering down to my core, the trembling twist of guilt. “I think they did...” I whispered. “And I think it’s my fault.”

            “What did you do, Watcher?” Herrah loomed over me, “Have you undone our work before it even began?”

            “I–”

            “Calm, Herrah,” Monomon cooed, “The Seals hold. In either case, the Vessel was not meant to be a permanent solution. It could not be by its very nature.”

            “Does that mean...” the Beast mellowed to a pensive tone, “We may wake up one day?”

            “We may. There is no certainty.”

            Herrah folded two pairs of arms, her head down in thought. She spoke at length as if confessing to us, “I... hope we get to wake up again. I want to see my girl again. My dear daughter. I miss her already. I want to see her when she’s grown.”

            Monomon burbled proudly, “I would dearly love to see my students again. I will have much to tell them about.” She looked to me, “And you, Watcher? Is there someone you wish to see again in the waking world?”

            I gazed out into the clouds. Was there? I thought of the Pale King; of the time I had spent as a confidant to His Majesty, of his inescapable charisma, of his detached benevolence, of his unfathomable cruel streak he had kept so well hidden from me. I thought of the Pure Vessel – no, just Pure – of their beauty, their strength, their strange sort of innocence, their emptiness ruined by my folly, their potential thrown away... and for what...?

            “Watcher?”

            “No. There isn’t.”


End file.
